


Proposal

by asexualshepard



Series: The Adventures of Brynja Cousland, Warden of Ferelden [8]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins, Dragon Age: Origins - Awakening
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Engagement, Established Relationship, F/M, Late Night Conversations, Literal Sleeping Together, Love, Marriage Proposal, Non-Traditional Proposal, Sleeping Together, Sleepy Cuddles, Warden Alistair, Wedding Rings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-15
Updated: 2015-11-15
Packaged: 2018-05-01 20:24:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5219606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualshepard/pseuds/asexualshepard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>With the Blight a year passed and Vigil’s Keep under reconstruction, Bryn and Alistair find themselves once more traveling through Ferelden, and she decides to make proper use of her parents’ wedding rings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Proposal

They didn’t sleep the same way twice. One night Bryn would be sprawled across Alistair’s chest, arms thrown wide and legs wrapped in his, and the next he would have his head beneath her chin, his arms wrapped around her waist. Honestly, neither of them were sure how they ended up in the various arrays they woke up in. But they didn’t mind. They were alive, and together, so they really didn’t mind _anything_ , actually.

They did have tendencies, though. Alistair liked to be held, and Bryn liked to hold, so they often found themselves in a position where she was wrapped around him in one way or another. Not to say that there weren’t exceptions. Every once in a while, he would hold her back to his chest and bury his nose in her hair, breathe her as they both fell asleep.

That was how they had arranged themselves in bed on this particular night. Alistair’s arm was draped over her waist, his other extended beneath the pillows they shared. Her hand had found his at some point. Though their palms couldn’t be pressed together with this particular position, she’d slipped her fingers beneath his and curled them around the back of his hand. For a time, she’d smoothed her thumb along his wrist, and he’d returned the gesture by brushing his over her stomach.

They’d talked for a while, whispered jokes, made plans for the next day, and then Alistair had drifted off, falling into the Fade. Bryn had been quietly muttering a story he’d heard several times before when she felt his breath slow against her neck. His fingers stilled against her skin, and she smiled as she turned her attention to the window in front of her. It wasn’t often they rented rooms with a window—it wasn’t as common in Ferelden as it was in Orlais or Tevinter—but every once in a while they would get lucky, and they would look out at the darkness and remember the many months they’d spent in tents.

The stars were dim that night. Inky blackness spread across the sky, illuminated only by the low light of the lamps in the small town down the hill. It had once been much larger, but it—along with many of the other southern villages—had been swallowed by the Blight, and repairs were a slow and shaky process. Ferelden was in a sorry state. Bryn and Alistair helped where they could, but shortages of building supplies kept many homes from being built.

Home.

Maker, how Bryn longed to have one again. A place to go after a long day and put up her feet, rest her head. A place where she could leave things lying on the floor and laugh when Alistair inevitably tripped over them. With any luck, Vigil’s Keep would one day be that place, even if it wasn’t as—well— _domestic_ as she would have liked.

Her lips quirked upwards as she remembered the night she’d confessed her desires for a domestic life to him. At the time, everything had been a mess, she hadn’t known where she would be within a week. Yet, here she was. Breathing. Alive. With Alistair. That was miracle in and of itself.

But, once again, she found herself desiring to tempt fate and ask for more.

Her eyes flickered to the rings sitting on the nightstand on her side of the bed, a chain keeping them together. She wore them around her neck most days. Beneath her armor, they would rest close to her heart, a comforting reminder of her parents. They seemed to get heavier as the weeks went on, though—had been doing so since she’d first found them in Denerim’s market. Since she’d shown them to Alistair, and he’d joked about her proposing.

It had seemed a bizarre idea at the time—marriage. They were in the throes of war, one or both of them could have been dead in the blink of an eye, and thus she hadn’t given it a second thought. But the Archdemon was slain, the Blight put to rest nearly a year ago. Their lives had taken on a tone of normalcy they’d never had before—even if that normalcy was wandering Ferelden, searching for any remaining darkspawn and sending recruits back to Vigil’s Keep. Maker, they had a _morning routine._

And yet, she still felt her heart swell in her chest when she would look at him and realize that—by some uncanny stroke of luck—he loved her. And she loved him. What a marvelous thing that was.

On an impulse, Bryn leaned away from him, her elbow propping her up on the mattress so her other hand could reach out and take the rings in her fingers. She stared down at them for a moment, hooking her forefinger through the band that had belonged to her father and spinning it. She wondered if it would fit on Alistair’s finger.

A quiet grumble from behind her brought a smile to her lips, and her fingers curled around the rings, holding them to her palm.

“I haven’t left,” she whispered, settling back against his chest. “Nothing to worry about, love.”

His arm curled around her tightly, pressing her to him, and she heard him mumble something as he pressed his lips to her shoulder. The rings burned against her palm. Her heart beat was a heavy, steady weight against her ribs, but she wasn’t nervous. Not anymore. Not with him.

“Alistair?”

“Mmph…”

“Do you want to get married?”

His small, shuffling movements ceased, his body going rigid against hers. She could no longer feel the gentle puffs of his breath against her shoulder. A brief flicker of nerves piqued in her stomach, but she didn’t let them grow. No matter what he wanted, he’d made it clear that he wasn’t leaving her side, and that was all she truly needed.

The heat of his body left her back and she found him leaning over her a moment later, the hand that had previously been curled against her stomach pressed to the mattress to support his weight. His eyes were wide. The gentle lights coming through the window sent intriguing shadows across his cheekbones and her heart skipped a beat. Alistair was easy on the eyes in the midday sunlight, but now—with moonlight illuminating his irises—she almost found it hard to believe he was real.

“What?” he asked, his gaze fixed on her eyes, eyebrows high on his forehead.

A flush began to spread through Bryn’s cheeks. “I know you wanted a musical number, but…” She worried her bottom lip between her teeth, once more swallowing the nerves that wanted to sprout in her gut. A shift from her side to her back, and a finger reaching up to brush his hair away from his forehead.

A deep breath.

“Alistair, will you marry me?”

For a second, she thought she might have to repeat the question. He made no indication that he’d heard her speak, had offered no reaction, and she was about to open her mouth to prod for an answer when he dropped his lips to hers. Just as it had been since the first, time seemed to slip away when he kissed her, and everything was warm. His body hovered as his left hand came to her cheek. Her fingers tightened around the rings as her stomach twisted pleasantly, her lungs empty of air as he became the only thing she could feel.

She didn’t open her eyes when he leaned away from her—not for a few moments, at least. She could still feel the paths his lips had left on hers. Her tongue poked out to chase any taste of him that may have lingered there. Her eyes opened with a gentle sigh to find him much closer than she’d thought, the tip of his nose brushing against hers when she brought her gaze to his.

“Should I assume that’s a yes, then?” she asked quietly, cursing the tilt of hope that turned her words upwards.

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “What do you think?”

“Well,” she started, her eyes flashing as a grin spread across her lips, “I think your morning breath actually starts in the late evening, but that’s a problem for a different time.”

Alistair chuckled and leaned forward to kiss her once more. Neither of their smiles dimmed, making it a sloppy mess of a thing, but, as with most concerns, neither of them minded. She sighed against his lips as her fingers rose to curl around the hairs at the nape of his neck. When they separated, they still remained close, his lips brushing against hers and his eyes refusing to open.

She smiled, smoothing her hand down his neck. “You didn’t answer my question, you know.”

His laugh was a soft thing—breathed against her lips. “Yes,” he said. “I would be _honored_ to marry you.”

“Was that so hard?”

Alistair snorted and flopped over to lie besides her, curling on his side. Bryn followed him, mirroring his position with a smile on her face, and shifted the rings against her palm. The chain was slipping from between her palm and fingers, the tail dragging over the rough sheets beneath them.

“So-o…” Alistair mumbled. “We’re engaged now, are we?”

“So it would seem.” Despite her smile, her throat went dry. “We can even make it official.”

Alistair’s eyes drifted to the space between them when her fingers twitched and she held the rings up, both of them pressed between her forefinger and thumb. His gaze flicked between them and her eyes a few times.

“Your parent’s rings?” he asked.

She nodded and focused her attention on undoing the clasp keeping the rings on the chain. “They just… feel fitting, I suppose.”

He didn’t speak as she took his left hand in hers and slid her father’s ring onto his finger. It wasn’t a perfect fit—Alistair’s fingers were a bit smaller than her father’s had been, though his knuckles must have been larger. He wiggled his digit to aid her, and neither of them could stop the giggles that erupted from their chests. Once the ring sat comfortably on his finger, Bryn passed him her mother’s ring, and he slipped it onto her hand.

“You’re going to be my wife…” he muttered, watching as his thumb smoothed over the band around her ring finger.

Her fingers moved to comb through the hair above his ear. “And you’re going to be my husband.”

Alistair grinned and leaned over, pressing brief kisses to her lips, cheek, forehead. His hands cradled her neck, the cool metal of the newly-placed ring soft against her skin, and she attempted to press her own kisses to his face. Even as their heads settled into the pillows once more, they didn’t stop touching each other, fingers tracing lips and cheekbones and noses.

“Do you, um,” Alistair cleared his throat, a blush tingeing his cheeks as their hands found each other, looking down at them as their fingers wound together. “Do you have any thoughts?”

“I have many thoughts, love,” she teased. “I’m afraid you’ll have to be more specific.”

He groaned. “You’re a cruel woman.”

“Only when you allow me,” she smiled, her foot shifting to press against his.

Ankles twined together as he shifted closer to her. A smile tugged at the corners of his mouth as he said, “About the _wedding_.”

She opened her mouth to tell him no, not yet, but paused, a thought occurring to her. There was one thing she knew she wanted, but she wasn’t sure how he would react.

“Um… One thing?” Her heart began beating faster as he watched her, and she felt the nerves she’d been ignoring through their whole conversation begin to surface. This time, she knew she wouldn’t be able to push them down again.

His hand squeezed around hers, drawing her attention back to him. “Whatever you want, my dear.”

The nerves lost their edge. “I’d like to keep my last name,” she spoke. “If that’s alright, I mean.”

Alistair smiled. “Actually, I was hoping you’d allow me to take yours.”

Her brows jumped. “You… really?”

He nodded.

“Why?” She stumbled on her tongue. “If you don’t mind my asking, that is.”

His brow furrowed and his lips tucked themselves between his teeth. He was thinking. He always got that look when he was thinking. After several moments, he sighed.

“Theirin… doesn’t mean anything to me. It’s just the name of two kings—dead ones, to boot,” his eyes shifted to hers, his familiar cheeky grin slanting his lips. “And Cousland is the name of the bravest, most renowned person in Thedas.”

“Fergus will be glad to hear you think so highly of him.”

Alistair snorted and scooted even closer to her, kissing the space between her brows before pressing the side of his nose to hers. For a few seconds, he simply stared into her eyes, his smile softening. She could taste him in every breath.

“I am yours, Bryn,” he whispered. His fingers tightened around hers, and her heart skipped a beat. “I want my name to reflect that.”

Every inhale was suddenly not enough, and every exhale shaky. His free hand came up to brush over the side of her face, thumb stroking gently, not urging her to respond. A soft lump had formed in her throat, and she swallowed it before opening her mouth.

“Maker, what did I do to deserve you?” The words were breathy, floating in the miniscule space between them.

“Well,” Alistair started, the sincerity of his expression dimming slightly to make way for his teasing glances once more, “there was that part where you stopped a Blight.”

Bryn shook her head and raised a finger to trace his nose. “Not a big enough accomplishment,” she breathed, voice trembling as tears of joy threatened to spill. And they did.

Everything about Alistair softened as he brushed the tears away. He was safety, warmth. For the last two years of her life—the _hardest_ years of her life—he had been a soft spot to land, arms waiting to catch her and put her back on her feet when she fell. She was going to spend the rest of her life trying to repay him. And she wanted nothing more than to do exactly that.

“I love you,” she said quietly.

He gripped her arm and pulled her against him, curling her against his chest and tucking her beneath his chin.

“And I love you,” he muttered against her hair. “Always.”

**Author's Note:**

> This contradicts one of the other fics I wrote in this series, but this is the "canon" version of their engagement. One day I'll go back and rewrite that other fic, but for now I'm just gonna post this and call it good.


End file.
